Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“You’re hearing things again,” I said to myself.
My kitty, Yum-Yum, raised his head, blinking at me sleepily.
“Oh, did I wake you from your nap, Yum-Yum?”
He laid his head back down and resumed his previous position, not giving me the time of day.
I snorted.
Then I looked around the old, unfamiliar house that wasn’t mine and sighed.
Old houses made a lot of noises that couldn’t be explained. Floors creaking, wood shifting in the wind, strange cracks appearing and disappearing in the walls when the heat of the day left for the cool of night. Seriously, I should be used to it seeing as I lived in my own house as old as time. Yet I wasn’t. Why, you ask?
Because with every single creak and groan I heard, I prayed that it was signaling the return of that stupid man who I stupidly loved. God, I was so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I loved him. I understood. But I was still so mad at him.
I pounded the dough one more time with a tight fist, then growled in frustration.
“Stupid man,” I hissed. “Stupid, non-ugly, beautiful-looking-but-ugly-talking, always right, caring father, never going to let me have my way, no good, son of a bitch, asshole, fucking jerkface, stupid…”
“You already said stupid.”
I looked up from my dough and gasped.
Dante. In my house.
Standing directly in front of me.
“How did you get in here?” I snarled, squeezing the dough in my fist. “More importantly, how did you find me?”
He was standing across the kitchen island from me, staring at me with something I couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes.
“I walked through the front door. You shouldn’t leave it unlocked.”
I narrowed my eyes. “The front door wasn’t open.”
I knew for a fact that it wasn’t unlocked because I’d been preparing for this possibility. Thinking about it, hoping for it, and praying that it would come, yet still scared that it might actually happen, and I’d have to face him. I’d have to see him, in the flesh, as I tried to work through the anger and sadness that still continued to pour through me.
He shrugged. “Took me a while to find you.”
I blinked.
I’d hidden well.
So well, in fact, that it took him four months to find me—at least I prayed that was the reason that he’d taken so long.
Then again, the fact that I was well hidden was mostly due to Rafe. He’d taken one look at my pitiful self, handed me a set of keys, a thousand dollars in cash, and gave me directions to one of his homes that was out of state.
Out of state in Ala-freakin’-bama.
One of his homes. I’d asked him how many he had. He said twelve. Twelve.
I wasn’t really sure how Dante had found me, but my guess was that Rafe had given him the information. There was literally no other way, not with where I was located.
I hadn’t left my little bubble in a very long time. When I did have to leave, I was hyper-vigilant.
I stepped away from the counter, hands covered in bits of dough and flour, and turned quickly for the sink.
My shirt was covered with flour also, and without thinking, I swiped at a stray fleck and then winced.
Now I had even more there. Great.
And then I realized that not only was I wearing a very tight tank top, but it was also showing off my non-existent chest, as well as the other thing I’d been hiding with the countertop.
“When were you going to tell me?”
I shrugged, instead focusing on washing my hands instead of the man that had rounded the counter.
“Were you going to tell me?”
I shrugged again. “Eventually.”
“When eventually?” he persisted.
“When I was damn good and ready.”
“Maybe when you weren’t pregnant anymore?” He moved. “When you were having the kid? When she was eighteen?”
I shivered at his close proximity.
“He.” I licked my lips.
“He who?”
I looked at him like he was stupid.
“He as in our son.”
He froze.
“Son?”
I nodded once. “Son.”
Then, the big man before me started to cry. Not small tears either. Big, fat, rib-crushing tears.
He hit his knees, and his head dropped. His shoulders shook with his big, racking sobs.
And that’s when I knew the man I fell in love with was back.
He’d done whatever thinking he’d needed to do.
I didn’t doubt that he’d find me again. I knew he would.
Did I think it’d take him four months to get his head on straight? No. I thought it’d take him a couple of days.
But, he was here.
I hoped.
“I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t know what to say or do.
He was down on his knees. He was still sobbing, and I frowned when I saw his hands that came up to curve around his neck.
They were scarred.
What?
He had a large red gash along his right forearm, one that looked like he’d whipped it against a tree limb or something. It was raised, red, and angry.